


She Poured Us Two Martinis

by Ozymanreis



Series: 30 Day Sheriarty Challenge [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I've forgotten how to tag, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Sentimental Sherlock Holmes, Sheriarty - Freeform, Sheriarty 30 Day Challenge, Tension, Undercover, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 00:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: Sherlock's casual felonies can't all be swept under the rug. At least, not without something in return, which he usually (not enthusiastically) gives. However, he fears Mycroft may be stepping over the line with this new assignment.Title taken from "Spy in the House of Love."





	She Poured Us Two Martinis

**Author's Note:**

> Day 19: Going Undercover

Sherlock didn’t know why he’d agreed to this; he’d technically quit MI6 over a decade ago. Why was he in Mycroft’s secret office outside London, away from most eyes? Even _with_ the promise of waiving his latest felony…

“Your coat lapel has been fitted with a new bug, entirely made of plastic.” Mycroft explained, opening the file on his desk. _The_ file. Containing the specs on his less-than-willing undercover mission. “It will track your movements. It will not show up on scanners, but I’m afraid that’s all that we can really provide you.” He folded his hands, eyes tired. It was dangerous, they both knew it, but they were running out of options. “Moriarty’s forces are well equipped, and they already know our relation.”

“Then why am I _spying_ on him? Even if I survive, I’ll have to be put in witness protection — _forever._ ” _Boring_.

“For a time,” Mycroft admitted, leaning back in his chair, “But once we sort out the data you provide us, we’ll have him put away, and his web dismantled. Depending on how well you do, we’ll put this whole nightmare to bed in no time at all.”

“At least three years, then?”

“Three years in luxury, or five to ten in jail for possession and distribution. _With_ a plea agreement.” He scolded, “Take your pick, brother mine.”

“Why me?”

“Because James Moriarty hasn’t shown interest in _anyone_ else.”

“Oh yes, always works out so well when a criminal mastermind has an obsession.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but squirmed in his coat some. This felt wrong. Moriarty had extended him an invitation to be _nemeses,_ not something this low.

“Just remember there _are_ lives on the line besides your own.”

With any luck (and perhaps some skill), he’d find nothing, not get caught, and Mycroft would sweep his little mishap under the rug without another word. Sherlock sighed, making for the door. “Right. I’ll send him the text by the end of the month.”

“You’d best. Your temporary immunity will run thin soon enough, and I’d hate to arrest you.”

“Not as much as you should.” Sherlock hissed coldly, shutting the office door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

Some months later, Sherlock is still a consulting detective. One that still worked with the police on occasion, but had found _quite_ a lucrative profession after joining the other side of the law.

Jim Moriarty had accepted him whole-heartedly, at least as much as the man could. Liked the idea of having a pet detective that could “consult” on where his crimes might fail. Though he never quite phrased it that way. Accepted Sherlock, yes, but maybe “trust” was somewhere far off. Never directly said he was planning crimes, and denied any involvement in real ones, always acted shocked when he read things in the papers. Always began his questions with “hypothetically…” Things like that.

As far as MI6 could legally tell, Jim was an adjunct professor on leave, working on his new book (and maybe he really was, he’d gone in depth with Sherlock when they were texting once, though even the detective could barely understand the subject matter).

But today, four months into his assignment, Sherlock gets an odd text.

 

**My place. 6:30. Address attached. -JM**

 

**Understood. -SH**

 

For all Jim’s flirting at their first meeting, the man had been very protective of his image ever since, opting to mostly be a text or voice over the phone. Dutifully, Sherlock texts Mycroft from his secure line:

 

**Meeting with him today. 6:30. Be alert. -SH**

 

No _real_ reason, but the sudden meet up couldn’t have been a good sign.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock arrived to what appeared to be a relatively modest flat. Central London high-risewith a doorman, of course, but still somehow gave off the appearance of innocence. Maybe it was the periwinkles in flower pots lining the perimeter. Suddenly nervous, he had to force himself the extra few feet to the door, knocking twice.

But with no answer, Sherlock tried the knob, apparently unlocked the entire time. Entering was another beast entirely. Bookshelves, polished wooden floors, low lighting from electric candles … And Jim, sprawled across a teal sofa, “Leave your coat and shoes at the door, won’t you?” He drawled lazily.

Nodding, Sherlock did so, more than fully aware that by leaving the coat, Mycroft nor his men could listen in and send help if needed.

Though, if Sherlock really _needed_ help, he was most likely already dead. He came in, taking the armchair across from Jim.

“Do you like it?” The Irishman asked, not sitting up or doing much to acknowledge Sherlock’s appearance.

“Like what?”

“The chair. I picked it out with you in mind, I know you prefer them.”

“Oh…” Sherlock hadn’t been expecting anything so… considerate. “It’s a good chair, I suppose.”

“Conversational segue,” Jim smirked, sitting up, eyes boring into Sherlock’s, “Because I _did_ pick it out for you. I do a lot for you, actually.”

 _Uh oh_. Sherlock needed some kind of panic button right about now. “Yes. You’re my employer, most of the time.”

“No, darling, not like that.” Jim snapped back, though immediately reconsidered, “Well, I suppose, yes, maybe a little like that…” He drummed his fingers one his knee, “See, I know you’re attempting to spy on me.”

Sherlock’s heart stopped.

“Relax.” Jim said before he could get any other distressed thoughts in. “I know _why_ you’re doing it, which is why I didn’t kill you to send a message.” He crossed one leg over the other, observing Sherlock’s body language, who had gone very stiff. “But we have a much larger problem, you and I.”

“Something larger than a potential security leak?”

“To MI6? They aren’t that important.” Jim waved a hand, “No, no, this is far more personal.” He stood, tilting his head as he looked down, across the coffee table at his guest. “No, the problem is that I’m protecting you for entirely selfish reasons.”

Sherlock blinked, “‘Selfish reasons?’” He echoed, “Thought you were a businessman?”

“I am, I’m just so terribly weak to love.”

Sherlock felt as if he’d been slapped, mouth dry, heart in overdrive. “ _What?_ ”

“See why I had you sit down?” Jim smiled, though it was one that betrayed some inner sadness. “Maybe ‘love’ is too strong of a word, but you get the idea.”

“The idea…” The detective began, rolling the words around in his mouth, mind too fuzzy to process them properly, “Is… that you feel attraction to me?”

“Yes.” Jim confirmed, “But acting on it would be… disastrous at best.”

“Doesn’t have to be.” Sherlock answered on instinct, without thinking.

“Oh, yes it does. As you pointed out, I’m your _boss_.” Jim shrugged, “We may not have HR, but… sexual harassment and taking advantage are evils of which I’m well aware.”

Well… Sherlock hadn’t properly, _really_ considered it. But he had, on occasion, felt that his “guilt” for trying to capture Jim wasn’t entirely born out of loyalty. “Why tell me at all, then?”

“One, so you’d know.” Jim said, as if it were so obvious, “And two… to let you know that this little _charade_ is over. I wanted you around, an excuse to talk to you, so that I’d know how I _really_ felt… and now I do.” He picked up his phone, “I’m going to text your brother after you leave, that I know of his treachery. That should be enough, without actual threat, to get him to back off.”

“At least for a few months.” Sherlock nodded.

“And, with your _narrow_ escape from danger that I’m sure you’ll play up to big brother’s sympathies, I’m sure he’ll let you go free for your valor.”

Sherlock smirked, “Should be enough, yes.”

“So… in short, your contract with me is terminated. You’re free to go.” Jim’s tone was more than “regretful,” but the detective was still elated.

“I can leave?” He asked, confused again.

“Yes, of course.”

“But… you just fired me.”

“Also yes.” Jim said, going to the bar in the corner of the room, pouring himself a glass of wine, trying to hide his grief.

“Meaning…” Sherlock stood, following him over, “It’s not _actually_ a problem if you began courting me, right?”

Jim’s eyes popped wide, blushing as he turned to the taller man, looking up helplessly, “So help me god, Sherlock… don’t you dare suggest it unless you mean it.”

“I’ll text Mycroft that everything is fine, put off his worry by a few hours-”

But Jim had pounced a kiss on him before he could finish detailing his plan.

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to have taken a long break... life has gotten in the way, unfortunately. School, work, house, starting a new job (which is shaping up to be way better, yay!), but I'm going to at least be finishing out publishing all of my works.


End file.
